


a sight to see, a sound

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just do it,” Keiji says, his voice filtering hazy through Koutarou’s headphones</p>
<p>aka the one where kuroo is too soft to actually edge anyone and mean it, akaashi is kind of an exhibitionist, and bokuto is far away</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sight to see, a sound

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as something really weird and became ... something equally weird. i joined the sports anime shipping olympics last week and tried to figure out character dynamics ... in porn. im so sorry. 
> 
> title from the azealia banks song 'miss congeniality'--thanks to the whittlebae for looking through it, as always.

“Just do it,” Keiji says, his voice filtering hazy through Koutarou’s headphones. Koutarou stares at the picture they make, Keiji on Tetsurou’s lap, legs pinned open by Tetsurou’s hands. The flush on Keiji’s face looks enhanced on screen somehow, a red that Koutarou knows comes from heavy exertion. He wants to trace it down where it spreads to his chest while Tetsurou keeps him there, breaths puffing warm across sensitive skin, and listen to his breath hitch. 

Koutarou misses him, would like to hear the way he begs--not with words, but through the way he’d arch his back toward the source of touch. Keiji is always so quiet, and Koutarou is _loud_ \--but Tetsurou always does a good job of giving Keiji what he likes. His hands look different--like they belong to someone else--and they skate down his body, careful to coax that flush downward toward his erect cock. 

Koutarou loosely fists himself while Tetsurou lowers his head, sucks into life a glaring red mark on Keiji’s neck. He wants to keep going but wants to lick there, too, grind down his hips in slow circles and feel Keiji’s dick twitch against his, has never hated the physical distance between them more than now. 

It’s like breathing underwater when Keiji twists his head to kiss Tetsurou. Koutarou can see his tongue sucking Tetsurou’s, a faint flicker of a smile on Tetsurou’s face when he rubs at Keiji’s nipples again. It gets a real whine out of Keiji at last, a noise that carries static when it travels to Koutarou’s ears. His lungs are on fire. He can see Tetsurou’s ignored dick swing between his legs when he maneuvers Keiji flat onto the bed, wants its weight in his mouth. Koutarou knows how mindful he is of Keiji’s tendency to stay quiet, appreciates how hard he works for Koutarou to hear it--and how hard he must be. He traces the seam of his balls while Tetsurou pushes Keiji down; rolls back his head; lets out a noise that gets Keiji's attention, pulls out that wry half-smile. 

Tetsurou’s hands shake when they finally wrap around Keiji’s dick. It wipes the expression from his face with every lengthy stroke, until Keiji grabs at the sheets and leaves wrinkles there in his wake. Koutarou does the same, hands dragging down his cock in repeated pulls. He savors the long, soft groan Keiji gives, hips rocking in a rhythm that Koutarou knows so well into Tetsurou’s grip. He matches it with his own hand, foreskin spreading precum over the head of his cock. 

He hisses in frustration when Tetsurou’s hand clamps tight at the base of Keiji’s cock. “Fuck--” but he doesn’t know if they can hear him at all, if Keiji can discern Koutarou’s breathing from Tetsurou’s. 

“I wish you were here.” Tetsurou keeps his fist closed, left hand moving in slow, agonizing strokes that pull increasingly louder groans from Keiji’s mouth. He drags his palm across the tip--and it produces as near a scream as Koutarou’s ever heard from Akaashi Keiji, strains to memorize. “Come back faster.”

Koutarou’s _I’m working on it_ gets lost in his throat when he sees Keiji shift, hands grabbing for Tetsurou’s before grabbing at the solid flesh of his shoulders. Tetsurou’s loose grip spreads precum around his shaft in deliberate twists, palm still skating around the sensitive head of Keiji’s cock. He’s edging him, slowly, purposefully (but Koutarou knows that Tetsurou knows, from experience, that Keiji can be impatient). 

Keiji’s voice breaks when Tetsurou does it again, palm rubbing agonizingly slow circles over the head of his cock. He lifts his hips up insistently, thighs tensing with every touch Tetsurou teases out--whines a little louder when he slows even further. Koutarou watches Keiji yank at Tetsurou’s hair in retaliation, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he pulls him down for another kiss. His hands are still fisted in his hair. 

Koutarou puts both hands around his cock and tries not to rush, tries to keep his breaths steady. Keiji tilts his head toward the camera with his dick in Tetsurou’s hands, breaking their kiss with an eye-crinkling smile. Tetsurou’s grip must be looser--Keiji’s hips are already moving, taking advantage of their newfound slackness, so Koutarou does the same. “Please,” Keiji repeats, and it’s difficult to tell who he’s begging for, hips bucking up, “ _Please_.”

Koutarou can’t breathe, _fuckfuckfuck_ \--needs to come. The flush on Keiji’s face darkens, hitched breaths releasing into a longer, lower moan when Tetsurou wraps his lips around the head of his cock. Koutarou strokes himself with his eyes on Keiji’s shaking body, fingers pressing against the underside of his own cock.

He’s so close. He can sense his own body winding up, balls tightening, hips matching pace with Keiji’s. His skin takes on a weird sheen from the light of his laptop, precum smeared over his hands, his dick, and when Tetsurou swirls his tongue around Keiji’s cockhead in even circles his hands do the same. Keiji strains to fuck his mouth, barely keeps it together--and Koutarou comes with the memory of Keiji’s cock, Tetsurou’s even thrusts, closes his eyes and it’s almost like being home. 

(Tetsurou hears Koutarou come and wants to see Keiji orgasm, needs someone to touch lips with own dick because he is _dying_. Koutarou is so loud that their speakers actually protest from the noise, but he loves it anyway.) Keiji uncurls his body into a single fluid arc--and Tetsurou knows he’s about to come when he stops moving, does the work for him. He twists his grip around him and sucks, keeps sucking, aches between his legs and tastes Keiji on his tongue. His cock pulses in his mouth, Keiji’s voice cracking when he comes, and Tetsurou swallows, for good measure.

Koutarou makes a whining noise in protest, fingers still curled around his cock. It blurs with Keiji’s quieter finish, the big dumb owl onscreen looking boneless. “You snooze, man, you lose.” Keiji bats at his shoulder for the quip and lets his legs flop on the bed, pulls Tetsurou up by the hair again.

“Your turn,” Keiji manages, and Tetsurou wants to come so bad he thinks he’s actually trembling. “Down, come on.”

Tetsurou turns to the camera, flashing him a bright, brief smirk. “Wish you were here,” he adds, before Keiji puts his mouth on Tetsurou’s cock at last. “Ohh, _fuck_ \--” and Koutarou makes another involuntary noise, rumbling from his throat, when Keiji twists his hands around Tetsurou’s dick with even-handed pressure. 

He jacks him upward, limbs still slow from orgasm, but Tetsurou isn’t complaining--he’s just glad someone is getting him to come, _shit,_ “Can you _please do that again_.” Without protest, Keiji lets him set the pace, palm and fingers pressing soft heat against his tightening balls. Tetsurou pushes his head back against the bed at the sensation. His hair probably looks as dumb as Bokuto’s, but he can’t bring himself to care when Keiji sucks harder, takes a tighter grip on him. 

Koutarou’s dick twitches, definitely interested at the sight of Keiji’s mouth wrapped wetly around Tetsurou’s cock. “Just like that,” Tetsurou pants, “Keep--” 

Keiji obliges, audible sucking noises translating so clearly to Koutarou’s ears. “ _Aaahhh_ , yes--” and when he comes, his hips fuck up mindlessly. Keiji doesn’t swallow, just takes his mouth off his cock and keeps stroking, grip still loose. Tetsurou looks good when he comes, angular features and lean limbs in snapping tension. Koutarou thinks about cleaning him up with his mouth and saves it for another day. Or the next shower he takes.

“No more, no more,” Tetsurou sighs, and doesn’t get up. Keiji disappears offscreen with a newfound steadiness to his limbs, reappears with a box of tissues. Koutarou stays quiet while Tetsurou wipes at himself, wants to lay his head on Keiji’s lap.

“I wanna be home.” Keiji frowns--it just slipped out, kinda, and Koutarou can’t take it back. “I’ll be home this weekend?” he amends. “Even if it’s only Tuesday.”

“Only a few days away,” Tetsurou shrugs, hauling himself upright. He reaches out to wrap a long arm around Keiji’s waist. Koutarou misses being on the other side, misses the obvious intimacy of sharing space with the people he loves.

“We miss you just as much.” Keiji looks mild when he says it, as if he can’t read Koutarou’s mind. “And we’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna do this tomorrow, too?”

“I’m working,” Keiji says flatly. Koutarou deflates a bit. 

Tetsurou jostles Keiji and adds, “But I’m not. I bet you I can last longer than you on camera.”

Koutarou considers it--and grins at Keiji when he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re on.”


End file.
